


This is Not a McChekov Fic

by Imasupermuteant



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Community: st_respect, Crack Pairing, M/M, Team Crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasupermuteant/pseuds/Imasupermuteant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Scotty feels very bad about the dog and Admiral Archer feels very bad about being a bit of a dick.  And there is inadvertent shipping of coworkers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Not a McChekov Fic

**Author's Note:**

> Note: According to the [Memory Alpha](http://memory-alpha.org/en/wiki/Portal:Main) wiki, Jonathan Archer of Enterprise fame was born in 2112 and died in 2245 at the age of 133 while Scotty (in any universe) was born in the year 2222, worked as an aide to “Admiral Archer” and was exiled to Delta Vega in 2257. I'm telling you this because I want it noted that I am aware that in a normal chronology Jonathan Archer would be 110 years old at the time of Scotty's birth and the “Admiral Archer” that Scotty screwed over was most like not Jonathan Archer. Nevertheless I've decided to use the character of Jonathan Archer because he's the only one I know and I ship it like fed-ex. That makes this an AU! Just go with it.

"Cuntybuggeryfucktoleybumshite!"

Scotty burst into engineering at 0800 on the dot with a scowl on his face that would rival even Bones' on Prostate Exam Day. He set up the usual diagnostics with angry jabs at the monitor, not saying a word to the shocked engineers attempting to maneuver around him.

Ensigns scattered to the winds as he approached, the off-duty security personnel decided to move their poker game to one of the observation decks even though the windows gave Lieutenant Gateaux vertigo, no one approached the still in Jefferies Tube 11 even though the moonshine was just about ready for consumption.

Scotty was pissed. No one was safe.

It was a rare occasion to find Montgomery Scott in any kind of bad mood. Sure, he liked to complain about the shoddy construction of the couplings in sector two, and shouting at Keenser was practically a hobby, but few on the Enterprise could ever say that they had seen Scotty truly angry. He was angry now, however, red in the face and cursing at no one in particular and turning to hapless underlings to inform them that Starfleet should have expelled them before they even set foot on his baby.

The reason for Scotty's ire was currently going over reports in his luxurious guests quarters with a cup of coffee and a bagel. Admiral Archer was aboard the Enterprise for the next three weeks, en route to a diplomatic meeting one the Orion homeworld. He hadn't said a word to Scotty since he had come aboard just days ago, and just that morning he had attended a meeting with the senior officers, during which he had ignored Scotty's very existence.

“Bloody fucking juvenile is what he is!” Scotty muttered to himself as he performed scheduled maintenance on the warp-core. “Buggering hell!”

“You doing alright there Mr. Scott?”

“No I am not fuckin' doing fuckin' all righ-- Captain!”

“Mr. Scott” Kirk leaned against a railing with a raised eyebrow, completely relaxed, as Scotty attempted to gather his wits, “I hear you are, and I quote, 'tearing about like a Klingon with its dick cut off'. Anything you want to talk about before you detonate the core and kill us all?”

“Captain!” Scotty protested, “I would never do a thing to hurt the bonnie lass and you know it!”

“You're about to shut off life support Scotty.”

“I'm not! I would never-- Oh.” Scotty looked down at the console briefly before quickly shutting down the subroutine that would have left decks 12 and 13 venting atmosphere. “Sorry Capitan, I'm not exactly at my best this morning.”

Kirk's eyebrow was rivaling Spock's for depth of expression, “I see.”

“Captain I really...”

“Look Scotty,” Kirk said, and Scotty was almost sure that the friendly use of his name meant he probably wasn't getting fired, “I don't have to be on the bridge until beta shift, Why don't you join me for a coffee and we'll talk about what has you attempting to murder the botany labs, okay?”

There was something in Kirk's eye that indicated that Scotty wasn't getting out of this, so he sighed and nodded and followed the captain out of engineering without a word.

Coffee wasn't necessarily the sort of thing that Scotty went for in the morning (he was more of a tea-and-scotch type) but Kirk had said they were getting coffee and Scotty figured it couldn't hurt. He would be bouncing off the walls in an hour or so, but at the moment he was focused and pissed.

“So.” Kirk said. And that was it.

“Err...”

Kirk's eyebrow was on a roll, raised once again in expectation.

Scotty sighed.

“I've got a hypothetical situation.” He began.

“Shoot.” Kirk said, gulping down coffee like it was a shot of something particularly disgusting and alcoholic.

“Say you had a younger officer, like Ensign Chekov for example.”

“I do.” Kirk informed him, “His name is Ensign Chekov.”

“Shaddup. I'm telling a story.” Scotty glared, “Anyway, This lad, we'll call him Chekov since it's easier, he falls for an older man who's also an officer...”

“How much older?”

“Older.” Scotty said as he considered, “Dr. McCoy's age maybe.”

“Bones? That's about, what, twenty years difference?”

“Aye, that sounds about right. So these two officers, they hook up and there's a little talk about the age difference but I-- er, Chekov is a very responsible, grown-up type lad and it seems like Dr. McCoy is just crazy about him.” Scotty paused to take a sip of his coffee and shudder at the taste, “So they're together for a good amount of time, enough time that the lad stops being so much of a lad, if you know what I mean, and Dr. McCoy is getting along in his career and Chekov starts thinkin' that maybe the doctor ain't so crazy about him being not a lad, if you catch my drift.”

“I think I do...” Kirk said, “We're not really talking about Chekov and Bones right?”

“No we're not bloody talking about Chekov and McCoy!” Scotty ground out, “Let me tell my fucking story.”

“Sure thing Scotty.”

“So the lad is starting to think that maybe he's lost his charm now that he's a bit older and the man who isn't really McCoy is having less and less time for the lad and in the middle of all this there might have been a slight mistake with a transporter and a beagle and then everything is fucked to hell and the lad gets left on an ice-planet for six months and they never speak again.” The rest of the story came pouring from Scotty's mouth in a great rush of information that hung in the air between them for a very awkward moment.

“Wow.” Kirk said, “We're definitely not talking about Chekov and Bones.”

“Oh fer Christ's sake!” Scotty ground out, slamming his head on the table.

“He's like, a million years old!” Kirk exclaimed as if the age difference had just occurred to him and he was both disgusted and curious in only the way a pervert like Kirk could be.

“He's 63.” Scotty mumbled into the table, “and he's brilliant and we were together for six fucking years. Six years! And I loved that god damn bloody fuckin' stupid dog and I never would have tried it if I didn't think it would work and if I wasn't so god damn angry at old whats-his-face for implying that I couldn't.”

Kirk's eyes were wide as he gazed at Scotty from across the table and took another shot-drinking-gulp from his coffee.

“Fuck.” Scotty said with a miserable sniffle into the tabletop.

“Maybe if you just talked to him...”

“Talk!” Scotty cried out, his head shooting up, “He won't even look me in the eye! Not to mention the fact he left me on fucking Delta bloody Vega, that sounds like the end of the fucking relationship to me. Stupid fucking way to break up with a man if you ask me, which nobody does might I add.”

Kirk looked sympathetic and mildly uncomfortable in his direction, waiting out the rant.

“I always knew he loved that dog more than me! An' here I am no longer in my fucking twenties so he just fucking jettisons me onto the nearest ice-hell so he doesn't have to look at my fucking fa--”

“Hello Monty.”

Scotty looked up into the face of the one man he most wanted to see and he felt a rush of the anger that had overtaken him that morning and the crushing melancholy that had haunted him for the whole six-month period on Delta Vega. Admiral Jonathan Archer had changed little since Scotty had last seen him, he back was ramrod straight, his hair slightly grayer than it had been a little over a year ago. His eyes were exactly the same, intelligent and calculating and fond.

Something hard and vengeful twisted in Scotty's gut. At one point he would have given anything for this chance to apologize, to try and work something out, but that was more than a year and months of cold and hunger and loneliness in ass-end of the universe away and Scotty had run out of guilt and replaced it with hurt.

“Fucker.” He growled, slamming his still-full cup of coffee on the table and marching out of the mess hall with a scowl on his face and an angry stiffness in his stride.

Scotty proceeded to spend the day furiously at work. He didn't suffocate any scientists this time, but he did a thorough examination of the entire engineering deck and the transporter room as well as working through that problem with the food replicators not making cheese.

He returned to his quarters at the beginning of gamma shift too exhausted for anger, looking forward to a scotch and bed. What he found was the Admiral, already there (having overridden his room-code God dammit) with two glasses already poured.

“Montgomery.”

“Fucking hell.” Scotty groaned.

“Is there something wrong with you that you can't say my name when I talk to you?” Archer said in that whiskey-rough voice that used to get Scotty off so hard.

“I'm not going to just stand here and let you...”

“Shut up and drink Monty.” Archer growled.

Scotty shut up and grabbed a drink.

“I got a new dog.” Archer said conversationally.

“Did you now.”

“Yeah.”

There was an award pause while they each took a drink and said nothing.

“Look Jon I...”

“I'm sorry.”

“What?”

“I'm sorry.” Archer repeated again, “I talked to Kirk today, you know, and he told me what you said and I'm sorry. I was a dick. You killed my dog, but I was a dick and I never wanted to throw you away and I'm sorry.”

“Oh Christ Jon, I...”

All of a sudden they were kissing. The deep, mind-blowing kisses that Scotty remembered from back when he was just Archer's TA and thought the sun shined out of the man's ass and neither one of them knew what they were doing.

And Scotty was pulling Archer out of the dull gray uniform and leaving his own red shirt on the floor as they moved to the bed, not frantically but sensuously reaching out and rediscovering parts of one- another that they hadn't quite forgotten and Scotty was whispering “I'm sorry” as Archer slid his slick fingers into him.

Archer pushed himself into Scotty with a moaned “I'm so sorry.” Holding his lover under him, kissing and fucking at the same time and breathing the same air. Scotty was coming hard under Archer's hand, impaled on Archer's cock, for the first time in over a year and he was whispering “yes” and “I forgive you” and they were coming, not quite together but close enough.

Maybe they weren't quite back to the place they had been, he thought as they drifted off, but Scotty went to sleep feeling like he was emerging from somewhere dark and cold and lonely into a warmth he had forgotten.


End file.
